The Descent
Jan 23, 2010 20:37:05 GMT -7
Post by daybreak on Jan 23, 2010 20:37:05 GMT -7
Below is the prologue and the first three chapters of a story I wrote last year.
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Prologue
“Though knowest lord, the secrets of our hearts, shut not thy merciful ears to our prayers, but spare us, lord most holy, O God most mighty, o holy and merciful savior. “
Heavily my eyes shifted from the priest courteously reciting the prayer to the gray skies. As I wept, the heavens wept with me, carrying her tears to this mortal earth, holding me as I hold on to what little memories I have left. The will fade with the passing of time.
“Though most worthy, judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee.”
The true pain of death pulses through the heart of the living, an everlasting bitterness that diminishes not even with the sweet light of dawn.
“For as much as it hath pleased almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself. The soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground.”
This soul will never depart, it will not be forgiven
“Earth to earth.” For it is trapped beneath the soil.
“Ashes to ashes.” Until the very fires of the abyss char the damned soul.
“Dust to dust.” And our few memories crumble with the remnants of his spirit.
“As we forgive those that trespass against us and lead us not into temptation…” The temptation in to which you and I fell.
”…but deliver us from evil. Amen.” He cannot be delivered anymore. Nor can I.
Chapter 1
Few situations call forth a greater emotional response than being restrained and confined. The frustration that drenches the captured soul cuts deeper than the chaining rope. A sense of helplessness washes over me as I sit, capable of moving only my eyes. If only the eyes were spared of the horror my body must succumb to under confinement. They are not trapped, as my body, but are cursed with staring into the monotony of imprisonment. That day, a bittersweet day, not I was confined. Until this day, I will remember that gaze. A disquieting satisfaction was visible in his gaze. The man's gaze lacked pomposity, but sent forth a supreme confidence. I felt neither victorious nor any satisfaction when I pulled the trigger.
Never will I forget his gray eyes. He sat still, neither squirming in fear nor pleading for mercy. How is this possible, for a man to be so tranquil in the face of death? This is something beyond courage and beyond my understanding. Man can accept his fate, but such a reception does not mean he will do so without fear.
The man was thin to the point of frailnwss. His cheekbones protruded, intensifying his already petty appearance. Unruly hair covered his ear and rested on his shoulders. He was both shackled and tied to a chair, leaning over the back and staring into my eyes. To my amazement, there was no hatred in his eyes, no anger, no spite, not even regret.
My gaze shifted in an attempt to escape his eyes. The room into which my stare transferred was bare, missing even a window. In the darkness, we complete our wicked deeds. My lips curled into a sneer as an enormous rat scampered across the floor, retreating into the secure embrace of a hole in the wall. A table stood beside me, empty for all but a single pistol which I grabbed. The cold metal send shivers through my body, but soon my natural warmth made the grip of the pistol bearable enough. But with that came a price. A newfound coldness slowly washed over my heart and mind. I pointed the pistol at the man and pulled the trigger.
His head jerked rearward, nearly sending his body and the chair into a tumble. A short grunt escaped his lips before his body slumpedover the chair, remaning in that position. As the ring of the gun subsided, the room fell silent again. At that point, I lacked any emotion. I felt cold, only cold. But this cold was not from the gun. The horror of my deed did not even occur to me in the slightest. Placing the pistol on to the table once more, I turned towards the door. The sensation I felt at that time was most unusual. Pressure manifested itself in my chest. The pressure was far from pain, but it was truly unsettling. It gripped far more than my chest. My lungs too were gripped and every breath became diffcult. The world around me began to feel surreal. My vision blurred and a haze covered my senses. Reality apperared to shift into a dream. I was not in control of my steps nor my breathing. Not even my thoughts seemed my own. Glancing through a veil into the world left me utterly bewildered. At a later time, I learned that an experience as this is called derealization.
The body was left in the chair. Along with my conscience
Chapter 2
Never will I forget the gray eyes. The gray eyes of my brother. The image of his slumped body remained blazed within my mind that day. Yet, guilt only lingered in the distance, not even slithering into my warped consciousness. I wept not at the pains of murder, but at the loss of a man. The loss of my brother, he who has been judged and sentenced. I brought the punishment to a man who has chosen to defy.
“I am sorry for your loss.” How can one feel sorry when they are not the ones to fee the pain? When they are not the ones to take the life. I turned to the source of the voice. The man stood above six feet, with wide shoulders to complement his intimidating height. Creases covered the man’s brow, harmonizing with the heavy bags under his dark eyes. Bursting into a ragged cough, the man, Javier, covered his mouth. His health dissolved, but that was of no importance. I must no longer feel needless sympathies. They are naught but a hindrance. Naught but means to anger.
“Are you alright?” I asked Javier, my gaze lacking sincerity and compassion. Such questions, do we not all ask them? Even if you have not even the slightest interest, we ask such questions. Often men behave in such a way, donning a façade and masquerading. This we cannot change, in a world of false genuineness and compassion. We must deceive as we are deceived.
I am sorry for you loss. Those words imbued me with a primeval anger, but I molded my lips into a dry smile instead of spewing my hideous anger, unleashing venomous words. “We will ensure that the murderer is found,” Javier promised, his voice filled with an amusing resolve and assurance. I feared not the punishment, should he learn the truth, but the intoxicating shame that comes with a wretched truth. The penetrating gaze of those who know cuts deeper than the electric current of the grim, damning chair. Why am I so bothered by this notion? With the pain of shame comes the crushing of pride, and the only pride I have left lies in the thought that I have taken the proper course of action.
The priest, Alexander, approached silently, and placed his hand on my shoulder. He was a young man, younger than I, whose light, blond hair contrasted my black.
‘If you feel the need to speak, I will listen.” I nodded stiffly as he turned away. Many men and women, shortly before departing the cemetery, gave similar expressions of mourning. The tears of the Heavens continued to trash onto the earth, my hairs and face. Their wretched sorrow was far from its end. But I wept no more when the memories of my crime washed over me. I felt nothing anymore.
Chapter 3
For whom does the bell toll today? The song of the bells commenced as I paced through the antique oak doors of the Chapel. The light of the sun shone through the stained glass, kissing the Chapel with the sweet smile of the morning light. Peculiar inscriptions covered the benches, worn by the passing of time. My eyes swung to the altar. Alexander stood to the right, and the light of the sun centered on his frame. Black robes, freshly pressed, covered his body.
An ample smile crossed Alexander’s lips,” You have come, my child. Wonderful.” A child...a man younger than I referred to me as a child. For this I detested Alexander. An irrational revulsion surfaced in my mind. Not even the memories of Alexander from my childhood helped to sooth this venomous hatred. He was a friend for many years, but none of that mattered when wild emotions tarnishes my mind. The curse of a mind warped by emotions has followed me for many years. After several moments, the wild torrent subsided. We sat on the bench nearest to the altar, and my gaze met his.
“You have decided to come. Will you speak of your brother, or of something else?”
“The latter, Alexander.” Once again Alexander smiled. Oh, what a naïve smile. The smile of a juvenile man who believes that his words change men for the better. “You and I, we are not so different.” His pupils broadened and he learned forward.
“Do tell.”
The images of my brother’s cold body burned in my mind. At this time, I felt the strange sensation in my chest once again. I felt pressure, far from pain, but rather a sensation that strangled both my mind and soul. Lethargy washed over me and my breath grew heavy. “We are both guided by the desire for simple feelings. Pleasure, bliss, and what not.” For but a moment Alexander’s eyes narrowed, and the sides of his lips curled before returning to his previous, convivial expression.
I am not so simple.” A dry, rasp chuckle left my throat.
“Yes, I presumed as much. The webs you have weaved were burned not even by the flames of the rising sun.” Alexander shook his head, and his face distorted into a confused expression. With ease, I could see through the mask of the priest, and it was my duty to unravel it. The bell of the Chapel continued to sing, sending ringing through my ears. At times, the bells toll to announce a death. “You are a faith healer. An effective scam, and we have allowed you to carry it on without interruptions. As you know, every such thing that occurs in this city, social engineering, swindling, even robbery theft, and such is allowed by the Cabal, and therefore part of the profit goes to it. And you have not paid.”
Alexander widened his eyes,” I am a preoccupied, busy man. Occupied with things such as the funeral of your brother.” Alexander recoiled in fear as I reached into my coat.
“Please, no”
I retrieved a cigar and a box of matches. It took only a moment to burn the cigar. I inhaled deeply, my muscles soothed as the thick smoke tickled my tongue. Alexander’s shoulders slumped and he released a heap of air. I chuckled quietly and shifted my gaze to the stained glass window and then into the direction of the chapel bells.
“These bells, they are beautiful. They remind me of both Meditation XVII and my brother.”
And the mask has shattered.
“Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind…”
With the box of matches in my hand, I reached into the coat again.
“…and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls…”
I pulled out my hand, along with the same pistol that ended my brother’s life. Pointing it at Alexander, I pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into his head. What little sound was made drowned in the ringing of the bells. Now, no longer did the bells sing. Instead the bells wept, as I have wept but a day ago.
In finality, I quietly whispered,
“It tolls for thee.”
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Prologue
“Though knowest lord, the secrets of our hearts, shut not thy merciful ears to our prayers, but spare us, lord most holy, O God most mighty, o holy and merciful savior. “
Heavily my eyes shifted from the priest courteously reciting the prayer to the gray skies. As I wept, the heavens wept with me, carrying her tears to this mortal earth, holding me as I hold on to what little memories I have left. The will fade with the passing of time.
“Though most worthy, judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee.”
The true pain of death pulses through the heart of the living, an everlasting bitterness that diminishes not even with the sweet light of dawn.
“For as much as it hath pleased almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself. The soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground.”
This soul will never depart, it will not be forgiven
“Earth to earth.” For it is trapped beneath the soil.
“Ashes to ashes.” Until the very fires of the abyss char the damned soul.
“Dust to dust.” And our few memories crumble with the remnants of his spirit.
“As we forgive those that trespass against us and lead us not into temptation…” The temptation in to which you and I fell.
”…but deliver us from evil. Amen.” He cannot be delivered anymore. Nor can I.
Chapter 1
Few situations call forth a greater emotional response than being restrained and confined. The frustration that drenches the captured soul cuts deeper than the chaining rope. A sense of helplessness washes over me as I sit, capable of moving only my eyes. If only the eyes were spared of the horror my body must succumb to under confinement. They are not trapped, as my body, but are cursed with staring into the monotony of imprisonment. That day, a bittersweet day, not I was confined. Until this day, I will remember that gaze. A disquieting satisfaction was visible in his gaze. The man's gaze lacked pomposity, but sent forth a supreme confidence. I felt neither victorious nor any satisfaction when I pulled the trigger.
Never will I forget his gray eyes. He sat still, neither squirming in fear nor pleading for mercy. How is this possible, for a man to be so tranquil in the face of death? This is something beyond courage and beyond my understanding. Man can accept his fate, but such a reception does not mean he will do so without fear.
The man was thin to the point of frailnwss. His cheekbones protruded, intensifying his already petty appearance. Unruly hair covered his ear and rested on his shoulders. He was both shackled and tied to a chair, leaning over the back and staring into my eyes. To my amazement, there was no hatred in his eyes, no anger, no spite, not even regret.
My gaze shifted in an attempt to escape his eyes. The room into which my stare transferred was bare, missing even a window. In the darkness, we complete our wicked deeds. My lips curled into a sneer as an enormous rat scampered across the floor, retreating into the secure embrace of a hole in the wall. A table stood beside me, empty for all but a single pistol which I grabbed. The cold metal send shivers through my body, but soon my natural warmth made the grip of the pistol bearable enough. But with that came a price. A newfound coldness slowly washed over my heart and mind. I pointed the pistol at the man and pulled the trigger.
His head jerked rearward, nearly sending his body and the chair into a tumble. A short grunt escaped his lips before his body slumpedover the chair, remaning in that position. As the ring of the gun subsided, the room fell silent again. At that point, I lacked any emotion. I felt cold, only cold. But this cold was not from the gun. The horror of my deed did not even occur to me in the slightest. Placing the pistol on to the table once more, I turned towards the door. The sensation I felt at that time was most unusual. Pressure manifested itself in my chest. The pressure was far from pain, but it was truly unsettling. It gripped far more than my chest. My lungs too were gripped and every breath became diffcult. The world around me began to feel surreal. My vision blurred and a haze covered my senses. Reality apperared to shift into a dream. I was not in control of my steps nor my breathing. Not even my thoughts seemed my own. Glancing through a veil into the world left me utterly bewildered. At a later time, I learned that an experience as this is called derealization.
The body was left in the chair. Along with my conscience
Chapter 2
Never will I forget the gray eyes. The gray eyes of my brother. The image of his slumped body remained blazed within my mind that day. Yet, guilt only lingered in the distance, not even slithering into my warped consciousness. I wept not at the pains of murder, but at the loss of a man. The loss of my brother, he who has been judged and sentenced. I brought the punishment to a man who has chosen to defy.
“I am sorry for your loss.” How can one feel sorry when they are not the ones to fee the pain? When they are not the ones to take the life. I turned to the source of the voice. The man stood above six feet, with wide shoulders to complement his intimidating height. Creases covered the man’s brow, harmonizing with the heavy bags under his dark eyes. Bursting into a ragged cough, the man, Javier, covered his mouth. His health dissolved, but that was of no importance. I must no longer feel needless sympathies. They are naught but a hindrance. Naught but means to anger.
“Are you alright?” I asked Javier, my gaze lacking sincerity and compassion. Such questions, do we not all ask them? Even if you have not even the slightest interest, we ask such questions. Often men behave in such a way, donning a façade and masquerading. This we cannot change, in a world of false genuineness and compassion. We must deceive as we are deceived.
I am sorry for you loss. Those words imbued me with a primeval anger, but I molded my lips into a dry smile instead of spewing my hideous anger, unleashing venomous words. “We will ensure that the murderer is found,” Javier promised, his voice filled with an amusing resolve and assurance. I feared not the punishment, should he learn the truth, but the intoxicating shame that comes with a wretched truth. The penetrating gaze of those who know cuts deeper than the electric current of the grim, damning chair. Why am I so bothered by this notion? With the pain of shame comes the crushing of pride, and the only pride I have left lies in the thought that I have taken the proper course of action.
The priest, Alexander, approached silently, and placed his hand on my shoulder. He was a young man, younger than I, whose light, blond hair contrasted my black.
‘If you feel the need to speak, I will listen.” I nodded stiffly as he turned away. Many men and women, shortly before departing the cemetery, gave similar expressions of mourning. The tears of the Heavens continued to trash onto the earth, my hairs and face. Their wretched sorrow was far from its end. But I wept no more when the memories of my crime washed over me. I felt nothing anymore.
Chapter 3
For whom does the bell toll today? The song of the bells commenced as I paced through the antique oak doors of the Chapel. The light of the sun shone through the stained glass, kissing the Chapel with the sweet smile of the morning light. Peculiar inscriptions covered the benches, worn by the passing of time. My eyes swung to the altar. Alexander stood to the right, and the light of the sun centered on his frame. Black robes, freshly pressed, covered his body.
An ample smile crossed Alexander’s lips,” You have come, my child. Wonderful.” A child...a man younger than I referred to me as a child. For this I detested Alexander. An irrational revulsion surfaced in my mind. Not even the memories of Alexander from my childhood helped to sooth this venomous hatred. He was a friend for many years, but none of that mattered when wild emotions tarnishes my mind. The curse of a mind warped by emotions has followed me for many years. After several moments, the wild torrent subsided. We sat on the bench nearest to the altar, and my gaze met his.
“You have decided to come. Will you speak of your brother, or of something else?”
“The latter, Alexander.” Once again Alexander smiled. Oh, what a naïve smile. The smile of a juvenile man who believes that his words change men for the better. “You and I, we are not so different.” His pupils broadened and he learned forward.
“Do tell.”
The images of my brother’s cold body burned in my mind. At this time, I felt the strange sensation in my chest once again. I felt pressure, far from pain, but rather a sensation that strangled both my mind and soul. Lethargy washed over me and my breath grew heavy. “We are both guided by the desire for simple feelings. Pleasure, bliss, and what not.” For but a moment Alexander’s eyes narrowed, and the sides of his lips curled before returning to his previous, convivial expression.
I am not so simple.” A dry, rasp chuckle left my throat.
“Yes, I presumed as much. The webs you have weaved were burned not even by the flames of the rising sun.” Alexander shook his head, and his face distorted into a confused expression. With ease, I could see through the mask of the priest, and it was my duty to unravel it. The bell of the Chapel continued to sing, sending ringing through my ears. At times, the bells toll to announce a death. “You are a faith healer. An effective scam, and we have allowed you to carry it on without interruptions. As you know, every such thing that occurs in this city, social engineering, swindling, even robbery theft, and such is allowed by the Cabal, and therefore part of the profit goes to it. And you have not paid.”
Alexander widened his eyes,” I am a preoccupied, busy man. Occupied with things such as the funeral of your brother.” Alexander recoiled in fear as I reached into my coat.
“Please, no”
I retrieved a cigar and a box of matches. It took only a moment to burn the cigar. I inhaled deeply, my muscles soothed as the thick smoke tickled my tongue. Alexander’s shoulders slumped and he released a heap of air. I chuckled quietly and shifted my gaze to the stained glass window and then into the direction of the chapel bells.
“These bells, they are beautiful. They remind me of both Meditation XVII and my brother.”
And the mask has shattered.
“Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind…”
With the box of matches in my hand, I reached into the coat again.
“…and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls…”
I pulled out my hand, along with the same pistol that ended my brother’s life. Pointing it at Alexander, I pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into his head. What little sound was made drowned in the ringing of the bells. Now, no longer did the bells sing. Instead the bells wept, as I have wept but a day ago.
In finality, I quietly whispered,
“It tolls for thee.”